Snow Days
by Sherlocked Gallifreyan
Summary: Maybe a drunk mock-debate wasn't the best idea they'd ever had. It had started out civil (and sober) enough but devolved rather quickly as one of Foggy's friends stopped by with a case of beer she didn't like and donated it to them. College days. No slash. Rated for potential future chapters. (has now become a series of short stories based on tumblr posts)
1. Matt doesn't remember either

A/N: it's been…a really long time since I've written anything and my first time writing anything for Daredevil. I don't own anyone. If there are any formatting issues please let me know. I wrote and uploaded this from my phone. I do have plans for at least one more chapter.

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Snowed in and with the power out, they'd dragged their furniture around, Foggy guiding Matt as he moved the heavier dressers, and made the biggest fort they could. The beer in the fridge joined them in the fort. While it didn't make a difference to him, Matt had bought a small battery-powered lantern, which he settled in what felt like the middle of the fort. He heard a series of clicks; Foggy had turned the lantern on. They talked about holiday plans and general gossip.

Foggy clicked his bottle against his front teeth. "What?" Matt asked. In the lantern light he seemed too focused on Foggy.

"I was thinking," Foggy started. "I was thinking maybe there should be lanterns like this throughout campus." Matt tilted his head. He seemed to be considering it.

"Batteries," he said, opening another beer. "The cost of batteries would drive tuition up." A fair point.

"What if we…" Three sharp knocks interrupted Foggy and he dragged himself from the warmth of the fort. The room was freezing with the heat out. "Hey Mandy!"

"This is disgusting," she said, thrusting a case of beer at him. With that she turned on her heel and retreated to her room. Foggy shrugged. Free booze is free booze. He returned to the warmth of the fort with less grace than he would have liked, but between what he'd drank and what he was carrying it was a small miracle he didn't pull a blanket down.

"We got more beer, buddy!" he said. Matt grinned and accepted the can Foggy held out for him. Their debate was forgotten as they tasted the new beer and discussed its merits and flaws, both of them using words they were sure meant something else but not caring.

Neither of them would remember much of the conversation after that. Snippets of drunken discussion, misused words slurred over each other.

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Foggy dragged himself from the blanket fort the next morning, making a futile and totally false promise to never drink again. He made it halfway to the bathroom when he saw the bright pink sheet of paper that had been slipped under their door. Mandy's bubbly writing stared back at him in bold black lines. 'I don't know what you were talking about and I don't know if I want to know but you yelled "Now you listen here you fucking cumslut you have been found guilty!" Mandy'. Foggy frowned. He had no memory of saying that or saying much of anything last night. He set the paper on top of the blankets and shook his head. Maybe Matt would remember.


	2. Coping

In which Foggy finds a way to cope.

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The three weeks since Foggy had learned the truth about Matt and the Devil had easily been the hardest weeks of his life. He'd stopped talking to Matt entirely, did his best to pretend that there was no Matt shaped hole that followed him everywhere. Some nights he'd pull up Matt's name in his phone's contact list, debating whether he should just call Matt or delete the number. Of course, neither happened. The first couple days were a drunken blur; he was certain he would have kept drinking if that hadn't meant going out to get more beer. The subsequent hangover discouraged him from trying that again. He rearranged furniture and cleaned his apartment more thoroughly than he ever had. Moved furniture and cleaned again. Karen stopped by on occasion but she never stayed long. Focusing on work was nearly impossible.

A week and a half into this mess he searched youTube for easy yoga videos. Foggy couldn't get his limbs to coordinate and spent an inordinate amount of time on his ass, watching as the skinny woman on the screen made everything look too easy. Halfway through the video he gave up. He had enough bruises already. He left the laptop on the coffee table but moved back onto the couch.

Phone in hand, he debated calling Matt. His thumb hovered over the 'call' icon. Even if he did call, would Matt answer? Would Matt want to talk to him? Was Matt even still alive? His phone put an end to the debate, the screen going dark as the phone fell asleep. No calling Matt tonight either apparently. Maybe more importantly, did _Foggy_ want to talk to _Matt?_ He decided no; no he did not want to talk to Matt. The betrayal of that night surged over him again and he screwed his eyes shut. Opening his eyes, he clicked on the TV, surfing through the channels to find the most inane, thoughtless thing he could. A news segment about blogging caught his attention.

"...blogging may be quite beneficial in helping certain individuals cope with their traumas," the woman was saying. Foggy wasn't sure if what he'd gone through on that night counted as a trauma. If a client came to him with a story like that, he'd consider it a trauma for them. Why should it be any different for him? With more resolve than he'd felt in far too long, he settled his laptop on his lap and opened a Word document. The first few sentences felt forced and unnatural, like he was writing a bad novel. He gave up on sentences and typed as words came to mind. He imagined it didn't make any sense but he was the only one who would ever read this anyway. Mad as he was at Matt, he wouldn't betray him. _Not like he doesn't deserve it._ The thought is intrusive, malicious. Foggy types it into the growing list of nonsense. If he got it out of his head maybe he wouldn't act on it. What Matt did was risky and stupid but

A fit of giggling interrupts that thought. "local dumbasss knew what he was getting himself into and did it anyway"

Foggy thought it summed Matt up quite nicely.

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A/N I have no idea where this is going or what I'm doing anymore when it comes to creative writing. Analytic essays? Yeah. I got that. Got that in spades.


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